


Framed Fame

by KEBKEN



Series: Dragonsbane [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Everyone Is Gay, Friendship, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KEBKEN/pseuds/KEBKEN
Summary: Held wasn't always his name. Skyrim wasn't always his home. Times change, and a thief turns into a hero with the help of an Orsimer warrior. That's really not how Held had planned to get Mercers attention.-----small disclaimer: Mercer wont be the endgame pairing but an important part of the story :>





	Framed Fame

**Author's Note:**

> As always big thanks to my friend Baetty who beta read this <3 A true life saver.

 

 

 

 

 

PROLOUGE

 

 

 

The inn was full of people. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence in Skyrim, especially in the colder regions at night. People were chatting, cheering and eating. Some passed their time by eating or simply listening, be it to the singing of the local bard or to the other guests’ conversations.

 

It was a comfortable play between the active and the passive, everyone had something to do, most of them seemed content with what they were doing and those who weren't were busy drowning their problems in their brewed drinks.

 

Among one of these people was Held. He was seated on a bench, mead and food in front of him, and was slowly munching on one of the pieces of meat that had been placed on his wooden plate. His light brown hair that was collected in a half bun at the back of his head was messy, with only a few strands that actually stayed in their proper place. A beard around his mouth tried -unsuccessfully- to hide old scars, but it only added to his tired and dirty look; like a true nord… if you overlooked the fact that he was a high elf.

 

He took a sip out of his cup. Took another bite. But, then he realised he had stayed at the Sleeping Giants inn for too long. The night had laid its dark blanket over the land by now, which meant his time to act had come. A quick motion of his hand had septims rolling on the table. Packing his belongings together, Held stood up and made his way outside swiftly to where his grey spotted horse, Heather, was waiting. Approaching her, he took a sip out of a potion bottle he kept on his belt and flung his leather backpack on her back; the horse made a soft noise and shook her head as Held jumped on her back. The night had only just begun.

 

The Altmer had only needed to travel for a short while when he reached his destination. The closer he had gotten, the more he had heard of the worrisome noises. Screams, crashes, the sound of arrows cutting the air, horses crying out. Something was off. Something was wrong at Helgen.

 

Helgen was a quiet fort between Falkreath and Whiterun, known for not much but its special blend of mead and more recently for its strategic importance in the ongoing civil war. So, this was strange. Were the rebels attacking? It seemed too stupid, even for them.

 

Held left his horse at a safe distance from the fort gates behind a tree and had readied his two short swords at his side. The smell of burnt wood penetrated his crooked nose and made him grimace.

 

“What on earth happened here?” he whispered softly to himself. Suddenly, the ground was shaking and a screech pierced the air. A strong gust of wind forced itself through the forest and made Held shield his face with a leather clad arm. A shadow fell over everything around the elf, until a sharp tilt of his brown-haired head revealed its source. Dragon. A mother fucking dragon.

 

It was gigantic. The dragon’s body was as black as ash and looked crooked in unpleasant ways around its claws. Held was unable to see its head from his position on the ground but he doubted it would be any less frightening. He stood frozen, watching the dragon disappear into the horizon, before he got out of his stupor and sprinted towards the fort gates. He threw himself against them, pushing them open with force.

 

Everything had been destroyed.

 

Shocked, the elf took a slow step forward. All the buildings were crackling with heat, most of them completely burned to the ground. Corpses were everywhere, frozen in their positions of death as they had been mercilessly burnt. A woman trying desperately to protect her child in her arms, for naught. A warrior that had fallen, sword in hand. It was brutal. He felt sick.

 

Held was not above ridding the city of all of its valuables before he rode his horse back towards the next closest village, as no dead man needed gold and potions, despite the cause of death. The dragon had flown off into the direction of Whiterun. Someone HAD to warn all those people and if it had to be him, then so be it. Heather was jumpy. It was as if she noticed something was wrong. She probably did, animals were smart like that most of the time. He wove one of his long and thin hands through the horse’s mane. Riverwood was close again by now.

 

The clumpy stone path had become more and more secure, on his right was the forest blending the rising turf of smaller hills together. The small river on his left filled the air with its noises; so loud, that Held almost missed the aggressive bark somewhere behind him. He did not, however. Throwing a fast ice spell, not looking but trusting his reflects, his aim stayed true. When he properly turned around he saw a wolf lying on the ground. Dead. But from experience, the elf was aware that wolves never travelled on their own. A low noise from the forest gave the male all the warning he needed to swiftly draw his short sword. When the second wolf attacked, Held readied his weapon and stroke the animal down. The river noise was same as before now. Again, Held wasn’t one to waste things, so the two dead dogs found their way onto the back of Heather, secured by a thin rope. His friends from Valenwood would have been proud, somewhat at least.

 

However, Mercer would not be when he found out what Held had gotten himself into, it wasn’t efficient work at all. But, running away and leaving that many lives in danger seemed even worse to the Altmer so, Mercer could kindly fuck himself. Held would deal with the consequences later.

 

As he reached the open gates of the small village and flames of torches lighting up the night came to view, he jumped off his horse while stumbling a little in the process. A man wearing imperial armour leaned against one of the stone walls. Held noticed the armour was black around the edges, so could it be? A survivor?

 

“Hey, are you alright?” Held inquired carefully. The brown-haired nord looked up at the hooded elf as he walked closer.

 

“Did you escape from Helgen?” the Altmer poked further. They both stayed silent for a short while, until the nord finally seemed to find words and answered.

 

“Yes, I didn’t know anyone else made it out alive!” the man almost looked hopeful. Unfortunately, it seemed Held needed to disappoint yet again.

 

“Not a survivor, just a traveller. But, I saw the dragon leave.” Held explained carefully. The nord’s eyes darkened at the mention of the monster.

 

“Then come with me, we have to warn the others! I have family here,” he offered, instead of sharing the things that must have gone through his mind.

 

“I could do that,” the elf agreed, “I go by Held. What is your name, friend?” Held offered his arm when he saw the survivor was limping as soon as he let go of the wall.

 

“Hadvar. My name is Hadvar. My uncle is the blacksmith here.” The nord answered, a smile gracing his rough features. Slower than both of them would have liked, they made their way to the house of Hadvar’s uncle. Held used the time to give the man at his side a proper look. The man’s features were bold and square; his eyebrows were thick and his eyes a warm brown, Held assumed they had probably been the source of comfort for many, if what he had seen of Hadvar was anything to go by. Held took down his leather hood, sharing his face with the other man. It was only fair.

 

“Alvor!” Hadvar called, once they had made it to their destination, as he knocked on the door at the same time. A few moments later, there were footsteps and the door flung open.

 

“Hadvar? What are you doing here? Let alone at this hour!” the beefy blacksmith asked shocked. Then he noticed Held, and even more confusion crossed his face.

 

“We’ll explain, but not outside,” Held’s companion explained quietly. Their opposite nodded, eyebrows drawn together, before leading them inside his home.

 

“Hadvar,” the Altmer tried to get his new friends attention, “take this.” He shoved a red potion bottle into Hadvar’s hands. The nord looked at Held, his doubt very visible, but the elf had become used to that by now.

 

“I’m not an Aldmeri spy. Would have stabbed you outside the village if that were the case.” Held explained. Spies were a common fear for nords and not a foolish one either, but Held had been through this so many times already that he didn’t even bother to get offended.

 

“It’s just a potion for your leg injury. I won’t force you to take it but,” the long-haired elf didn’t even get a chance to go on before Hadvar had downed the potion at once.

 

“Thank you, I’m feeling better already.” Hadvar graced Held with a wry smile before they followed Alvor to the table next to a fireplace, inside the cottage.

 

They sat down at a table carefully as to not wake the blacksmith’s family, as Hadvar began his tale, Held adding in his perspective when he could. Alvor could only listen and worry.

 

“That’s when we met here.“ Hadvar explained.

 

“Divines know, what happened to Ralof and the Rebels,” he then added. It was obvious that he was trying not to care about the other nord, probably failing. Held internally cringed at Hadvar’s position in all this; the man had been a low ranking soldier, ordered to execute an estranged childhood friend. This was bad enough already, but then add the leader of a rebellion and a dragon to that mess. Because yes, as Alvor and him had been shocked to hear, Ulfric Stormcloak had been in line for the chopping block before the dragon had attacked. What an utter mess. The blacksmith seemed to feel the same, Held realised when their eyes met and a sympathetic look crossed both their faces.

 

“We should warn the Jarl about this dragon.” Alvor finally interluded, while the other two nodded in agreement. “Riverwood would be in great danger with the small amount of guards we have right now, a dragon attack would result in our death,” the man added. Hadvar looked lost in thought for a short time. Then, he turned to Held.

 

“Would you do us this favour? I need to report to Solitude what happened, it can’t wait. But, to leave Riverwood like this – “

 

“Would be cruel. I get it,” the high elf finished.

 

The soldier grimaced, “Yes. I know, we do not know each other very well, but if I could ask this of you, I would be very grateful.”

 

“We all would be,” Alvor agreed. He looked at Held with a determined glint in his eyes, the man knew Held wouldn’t be able to say no. It was probably written on his face by now, a sight left Held before a soft smile formed on his torn lips.

 

“Alright, I’ll get it done,” he finally agreed to the relief of the others.

 

Curse him for having such a soft heart! Inside Held was panicking, this was not what he had come for. This would delay him even more, Mercer would skin him alive. The Guild Master had taken to sending Held on smaller heists, to test him. He had only joined the Thieves Guild in Skyrim a month ago, it was his way to prove his worth and he was already messing up. First, he wasn’t able to get the needed sum of income from the burnt down Helgen, and now he would also be late to report back.

 

Anyone else would probably have understood the whole deal with the dragon attack, but Mercer would just see it as an excuse. Besides, Held might not have liked to admit it, but he had really wanted to impress Mercer with this. Held wasn’t part of Skyrim’s guild in Mercer’s eyes. He probably would always stay the guy from the Cyrodiil guild with a death wish to his new boss, but Held was fine with that. However, this didn’t mean that he didn’t want to be something else to the grumpy Breton.

 

It was embarrassing to admit, but Held had taken a shine to the smaller man. Nothing wrong with that, especially when Mercer didn’t consider him part of his guild in the first place. However, that also meant that he had to get the attention (positive attention, mind you) of the man, and this was definitely not the way to do so.

 

“You should hurry now, the both of you,” Alvor threw him out of his line of thought. “we have wasted enough time talking.”

 

“Indeed,” the other nord agreed as he pushed himself off the table. Hadvar left his place beside Held, waiting for the elf to follow. Held did just that.

 

“Take your horse, I’ll find my way to Solitude by myself.” Hadvar told him as they stood on the dark street that lead through Riverwood.

 

“Stay safe my friend,” Hadvar said as the other male mounted his horse, “good people are hard to come by in these times,’ the soldier went on. “It would be a shame to lose a good soul like that.” These words made the Altmer’s heart feel like a boulder, if only the other man knew what kind of elf he was talking to.

 

“Let’s meet again someday, I’ll be waiting for you in Solitude. Until then, farewell.” That was all Held was left with, as he watched his new-found friend depart from the top of his horse.

 

That was how Held found himself on Heather’s back once again, this time on his way through the planes around Whiterun. His nose itched and he was tired. Really, he’d rather be doing anything else. But, this is just how things turned out to be sometimes.


End file.
